Cannot Sleep
by a-sheamoose
Summary: CM Punk comes home after a late night food run to find a drunk man collapsed at the end of the apartment complex hallway. Finding that Chris has been locked out of his apartment, he offers him a place to crash until at least his drunk dissipates. AU/Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Another one of my one shots for my long list of prompts. This one isn't a smut one like the last, however, but I like the idea of a Punk/Jericho friendship. It will also be split into two parts because I have to start studying for an exam and this thing is getting too long to be a one shot. Hope you enjoy.

**Cannot Sleep** – Chris Jericho and CM Punk

It was amazing how long he had been at work that day. A ten hour shift and they weren't even paying him overtime at this point. He was just doing the extra hours to scrape in whatever money he could to afford rent which was due in a couple days from now. Rent and the convenience store dinner that was in the brown paper bag in his arms as he rode the elevator up to the fifth floor of his crummy Chicago apartment. At two in the morning, it was about the only place open for him to find food, unless he wanted to crawl into a nearby closing bar and buy their disgusting food, but he didn't step foot into places like that. Hated seeing the useless drunks scouring the area for a quick score to take home with them at closing time. That's about whatever everyone did in this town when they couldn't sleep.

Punk, no, he bought himself a bag of Doritos, an ice cream sandwich, and a Pepsi and sat on his couch until about five in the morning when he could go to sleep. He never really had company in this town, despite the large amount of people. Working all day, and then everyone partying at night kind of kept him reclusive. He didn't enjoy drinking, so what fun was it going to be bar hopping with what little friends he had?

The doors to the elevator slid open and he narrowed his eyes at the harsh, blinking hallway light, making his way towards his door down the way. At the very end of the hallway, he noticed someone sitting in the corner next to the fake potted plant. The man looked familiar, but Punk pretended not to notice him as he stepped in front of his doorstep, digging in his hoodie pocket for his keys. The slipped out and clinked against the floor, startling the man at the end of the hallway. The guy glanced in Punk's direction, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. His eyes were bloodshot, dark rings around his eyes like he had been crying. His cheeks were red and he sniffled, turning his head away with a harsh squint like he was dizzy. Now Punk knew he had seen him before. He was that cocky fellow from down the hallway who came home late at night most times on the weekends, hollering drunk with his girlfriend.

Glancing away, Punk picked up his keys and jammed them into the door as he clutched his dinner against his chest. The guy looked miserable and Punk wondered why he didn't just go into his apartment. His girlfriend wasn't anywhere to be found. The man down the hallway groaned loudly, pressing his hand against his aching forehead. He was still bundled in his leather jacket from the chilly weather outside, although it was obviously he was hot from the sweat building on his forehead. Hesitating, Punk listened briefly before taking his key from the door when he heard the man choke back a sob. "Excuse me, but," he grunted, pocketing his keys. "Are you crying?"

The man bit his lip, rubbing at his face before staring up at the man with the bag heading his way. "What?" he grunted, lowering his head in a dizzy fashion towards his knees, feeling the urge to throw up. One too many this night had left him almost unable to move. Good thing there was an elevator in this apartment building because he would have never made it up the stairs in this state. Especially since he had been yelling and trying to keep up with a fight the whole way there. "I… no… I'm good," he continued, wincing lightly as the bright lights overhead. Punk stood before him, blocking at least a little bit of the light. "I'm cool, kid, go into your apartment…"

"Kid?" Punk responded, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. "Alright, have fun out here," he then stated, turning on his heel to head back down the hallway. Just as he was about to make a step, he felt a firm grip against the bottom of his shorts tugging him back just a bit.

"Wait, I'm sorry," the man at his feet groaned slightly as Punk jerked his shorts leg away. The drunken man on the floor stumbled a bit, shaking his head. "I actually… need to lay down… But I'm locked out of my apartment…"

"Call your girlfriend," Punk murmured, staring at the door next to him. He wondered if maybe she was still out and about on the town, but normally the two of them stumbled home together, making a big mess of giggles and slams against the wall when they tried to viciously rip one another's clothes off in preparation for sex once they got in the door. Punk heard it many times as they oftentimes came crashing against their door at night when he was playing video games. "Did you drop your key somewhere?"

"She has my key… and she won't… be letting me inside anytime soon…" His lip trembled briefly and he covered his face with both his hands, trying to black out his visions as the room was beginning to spin now. He had been so drunk coming up that elevator, but the anger caused by his girl's actions voided it until he actually got a moment to sit down. He had been sitting on the floor for at least half an hour now, knowing that anytime now he was going to have to vomit from dizziness and anxiety. It was very often he got like this from drinking, but he feared it when it did happen. "I just need a place to chill that isn't this hallway for like… a minute, man… a nap. I know that's weird, I'm sorry…"

Punk frowned from the corner of his lips, almost knocking on the door to demand his girlfriend let him in. He wasn't sure what they had been arguing about, or what each other had done, but he knew better than to just leave your loved one stranded. But he decided against it, figuring it was none of his business trying to solve their problems. He didn't even know this guy's name. "Tell you what… uh…" he murmured, holding out his hand. "What's your name?"

"Chris…" the blonde grunted, peeking from behind his fingers and wincing once again at the light. He tried to shake Punk's hand, but failed miserably and ended up smacking his own knee. "Chris Jericho…"

"I'm Phillip… but, uh, people call me Punk," the younger man stated, squatting down to the man's level. "You can come sleep on my couch until you feel better enough to sort this shit out with your girlfriend." Chris looked up at him, hesitant to shake his head in appreciation in fear that movement would make him vomit. Although he wanted to get up and crawl into bed, just moving alone was causing his brain to spin. "If you can grab this, I'll help you…" Punk chuckled lowly, pressing the paper bag into the intoxicated man's hand. Jericho grabbed it like it was his only support in life, clutching it tightly against his chest.

It took a few good tries, but eventually Punk got the man to his feet and the two stumbled their way down the hallway. Chris absolutely reeked of sweat, smoke, and alcohol, and Punk was painfully reminded of what a bar smelled like. It was gross and he couldn't imagine wanting to come home smelling like that every night. Using a free hand, he managed to get the door unlocked, kicking it open with his foot.

Once inside, Chris began to flail an arm around, shaking his head rapidly. "What?"

"Bathroom," Chris insisted, knowing he wasn't going to be able to hold his drinks in now that he had moved down the hallway. Punk immediately pointed him in the direction of the open bathroom door, letting the man stumble inside himself. Chris fell to his knees, nearly knocking his head against the nearby sink before purging himself into the toilet.

Wrinkling his nose, Punk turned away and locked his front door, happy to see the bag with his dinner in it on the floor in front of him and not still in the arms of the puking individual. He swept it up and carried it into his little attached kitchen, tossing it on the counter before opening a nearby counter to retrieve a glass. This guy was going to need water, and lots of it. Probably ibuprofen as well, but that was already in the bathroom. The man flipped on the tap, filling the glass with water before leaning against the counter, waiting for Chris to be done. Although it was likely he wasn't going to leave the bathroom floor once he was finished. "Stupid people," he thought to himself. He felt bad for the guy because on normal nights, he would have a place to go once he was done drinking. Punk already couldn't sleep as it was, his conscience wasn't going to let the guy sleep in the hallway in their crummy apartment. He would get mugged or hurt, surely.

But it was moments like these where he was glad he didn't drink. Didn't want to end up like that, in a near strangers house, vomiting his guts out. "You doing okay?" he shouted from the kitchen, crossing his arms slightly with the glass still in hand. There was a loud and surprised groan from the bathroom before there was a thud as the toilet flushed. Punk shook his head with a heavy sigh, finally making his way back towards the sick man. "You alright…"

"Yeah, yeah," Jericho moaned, at least happen that the poison had left his body. It didn't stop his head from spinning, but at least he knew there was nothing left to throw up at this point. He turned his head towards Punk, narrowing his eyes on the glass in his hand. Punk took this as a silent cue to hand it over and Jericho guzzled down the glass in four huge gulps, trying to relieve the itch of acid in the back of his throat. "Thanks man…"

"No problem." Punk leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as he waited for the man to collect himself. "Next time don't get so wasted…"

"Wasn't counting on not being able to get back into my apartment tonight," Chris murmured, staring into the empty glass. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his face against the cabinet beneath the sink. Eventually he got to the point where he could pull himself up from the floor, wavering a bit over the sink as he flipped on the cold water to fill his glass again. He took a sip, swished it around in his mouth, and spit it back into the sink. Once he got standing, though, the dizziness hit him again. "Shit," he groaned, fumbling with the glass when trying to set it on the counter.

The water sloshed around onto the floor and the glass slipped from his hand but Punk was quick to catch it before it crashed to the tile floor. "Time for bed," he stated, patting the wavering man on the shoulder and quickly leading him towards the couch. Chris wandered ahead, placing a hand on the arm of the couch before attempting to lie down onto it. He missed completely, instead finding a comfortable place on the floor between the coffee table and the sofa. Now that he was there, he probably wasn't getting back up anytime soon.

**Author's Note:** Kind of a stupid place to stop, but I have some things to do and I was eager to post what I had so far. Hopefully you like and I'll be working on the second half of it after I'm done studying and doing homework. Any comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Cannot Sleep – CM Punk and Chris Jericho**

**Part Two**

Punk stood between his living room and kitchen, watching the older man make himself comfortable on the old apartment carpet. It would probably only be a matter of moments before the man was asleep, which means Punk was still free to sit on his couch and have dinner. He snatched up his paper bag of convenience store items and plopped down on the sofa, creating a bridge over Jericho with his legs as he rested his feet against the coffee table. "Comfortable?" he questioned, sliding his soda from the bag. He twisted the cap, the sound of the carbonation startling the drunken man on the floor.

"What?" the blonde grunted, with his face pressed into the carpet. He felt like his body was melting against the floor, but he was afraid that if he ever so much as lifted his head, he would vomit again. Despite there being nothing left to throw up. "Can I… get a pillow…?"

Reaching to his side, Punk knocked a little couch pillow to the floor, to which Chris absently patted around him, in desperate search of it. "So… since I was such a nice guy for letting you sleep on my floor, I think you should tell me why you're not allowed in your apartment." The man on the couch smirked, watching the drunken fool blindly search for that pillow. One his fingers brushed against it, Jericho snatched it up like a long lost child and cuddled it against his chest.

Chris brought the pillow beneath his head and slowly shifted himself to lay on his back. His narrowed his eyes on the ceiling fan, deciding it was better just to shut them. "I don't even remember… we were out at this club, me and my girl… and we were literally about to leave…" He brought a hand over his face, releasing a heavy breath to calm his head. Since crawling his way into this man's house, he had actually forgotten about the argument between him and his girlfriend. Bringing up the fight made him get really warm. "We're outside and there's this girl just bawling…"

"Sounds familiar," Punk grunted beneath his breath, reaching his hand into the bag for a snack. He sneering, feeling that his ice cream sandwich had melted during the struggled to get Chris into his home.

Chris' brow furrowed in frustration before he peeked open at least one eye, lazily laying it on Punk. "Her friends forgot about her and she didn't have money to get home," he continued to explain, closing his eyes again. "I gave her some money to catch a ride home because… well, you know how safe these streets are."

"No place for a drunk girl," Punk stated, nodding his head in understanding. He had been mugged many times in these streets when he was younger. He grew up learning a lot better.

"My girlfriend thought I was hitting on the girl… and we argued… and I said some not so nice things during the argument…" Jericho winced loudly as his words flooded his mind. The terrible, tactless things that he called her on the elevator ride up. The nasty names he called her after she slammed the door in his face. Sure, it was silly of her to get jealous over some poor girl crying in the street, but it didn't mean he had to degrade her in a drunken stupor. "I can't control my mouth when I'm drunk."

Punk narrowed his eyes and pulled his feet up from them coffee table, tucking them beneath one another to sit Indian style. He unwrapped his ice cream sandwich, staring down at the man before popping a chunk of it into his mouth. There was an awkward moment of silence because he wasn't sure what to say. He had heard them all the time in the hallways, but never anything mean. He never heard them fight. Just laughing and screaming on their way to their apartment. "Just apologize to her tomorrow," he murmured through a mouthful of ice cream.

"Apologizing isn't going to fix it…" Chris sighed loudly. The anger of his actions was beginning to bubble up in his blood and he felt like hitting something, but knowing he was in someone else's house, he decided against it.

"You guys party a lot?" the man on the couch questioned, licking his fingers clean of the bits of chocolate stuck to them. "I hear you guys coming down the hall drunk a lot… Always sound like you're doing just fine. Apologizing should be easy. You're drunk, she's drunk…"

"Can I have some of that?" Chris suddenly asked, his eyes half open like it pained him just to stare. And it did, especially if it meant accidentally glancing at that ceiling fan. It was worth it, though, staring at that ice cream sandwich. "I'm hungry and I haven't eaten since…"

Punk grunted and tossed down his unopened back of chips, which smacked his apartment mate in the face. Chris jumped slightly in his spot at the suddenly movement, but welcomed the bag with a happy groan from the pit of his stomach. He popped them open, nearly dumping the bag on himself in desperation to fill his stomach. Munching down a couple chips, he leaned his head back against the pillow in brief happiness. There were another few moments of silence as the two ate, Punk glancing to the clock. It was getting pretty late, but as usual, he wasn't tired. It was actually sort of nice having the company, though, even if his company wasn't coherent.

"You don't go out much, do you?" The man on the floor dug his hand into the bag of chips, feeling his stomach and mind ease a little bit now that there was something to settle on. Normally his cured his coming hang over with a round of sex, but seeing as his partner left him in the dog house, junk food was just going to have to do. "You and I should go to the bar sometime… you're pretty cool."

"I don't drink."

"What, really? You don't look the type not to. You're lying."

Punk leaned back against the couch, crumbling up the paper wrapper of his sandwich and chucking it across the room. It bounced off the wall and brushed the side of the waste basket, landing on the kitchen floor. "So close," he thought to himself before returning his attention to the man on the floor. "Nope, not at all."

"Why not?"

"It's not fun and it makes people a mess… Makes you fall asleep on stranger's floors." He leaned over with a cocky smirk to which Jericho narrowed his eyes. Snatching up his bag of chips, Punk leaned back and glanced into the now half empty bags. "And eat their chips."

"Thanks again," Chris said coolly, scratching his fingers through his blonde hair that had long since fallen out of its style since he collapsed in the hallway. "I thought I was going to be out there all night, honestly…" He was finally at a point where staring up at the ceiling fan didn't upset his body, but he chose to glance over at Punk instead, who was fishing out a few chips from the bag. "Sorry I kept you awake."

"It's alright. Wasn't going to sleep right away, anyway." Punk took in a slow breath, bunching up the bag of chips and setting them onto the table. "You want the couch now? I think I might actually try to sleep…" He stood and brushed the few chip crumbs from his shirt before scooting out of Jericho's way, leaving him enough space to crawl onto the sofa.

The man on the floor reached up and pulled himself onto the comfy cushions, burrowing his face into the side of the couch. "When you leave, just lock the door behind you… and uh… let me know how things go," the younger man stated as he lingered behind the sofa, glancing towards his front door, which had already been locked when they entered. He figured this man would still be on his couch come morning, and more than likely groaning in a painful hang over. He also figured that Chris would forget his words, but it was worth mentioning. "Kitchen is behind you… eat if you need to. There's water and juice."

The blonde nodded as he slowly started to drift to sleep with a somewhat full belly and a more rested head. Although the words he shouted at his girl danced in the back of his mind, he found it a little easier to push them aside as he got comfortable against the couch. He heard the creak of the floor behind him and glanced over the back of the couch to find Punk heading towards his room. The lights clicked off, but before he could disappear from view, Chris quickly blurted out, "Thanks. I'll… let you know. And if you change your mind about that drink, you know where to find me."

Punk lingered in the hallway, knowing he would never take this man up on his offer, but it was still a nice one. Nodding his head, he let off a cocky smile and murmured, "Yeah, at the end of the hallway on the floor."

**Author's Note:** Lame ending, I apologize. Sorry it took so long to get the next part of this up, but I have been extremely busy with school and work. This week has kind of sucked for me, but writing usually makes me feel a little better. Hopefully you enjoyed. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always welcomed.


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